


don't waste time with younger men

by anthropologicalhands



Category: Man of Steel (2013), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Introspection, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:08:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1374922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthropologicalhands/pseuds/anthropologicalhands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Superman is eight years younger than Lois Lane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't waste time with younger men

**Author's Note:**

> The age differences are based on Amy Adams and Henry Cavill's, which just delighted me.

Superman is eight years younger than her. That’s something new. Lois usually dates older guys. Her lower limit pre-Clark hovered somewhere around three months under her in age. It wasn’t exactly a preference; it was just so rare for someone younger to keep up with her pace.

Well, those days are over.

In fact, it is incredibly reassuring to have a nigh-invulnerable partner. She doesn’t have to worry about him being killed while she isn’t looking.

At least if she’s being logical—that isn’t always easy, but he worries too much about her as it is, so someone’s got to be the rational one in this relationship.

It means that not only is she looking after her own skin, but having someone else to help. Another brain to bounce ideas off.

Someone who can pick up her train of thought without skipping a beat.

Someone who can fill in the gaps of her theories.

Oh, damn it.

She’s thirty-eight, a hardened reporter, and she has quite possibly found her soulmate. Not just on this planet, but in this entire universe.

Universe!

It bears repeating, because after all those years declaring that Mr. Right would have to be “out of this world”, he actually is.

At some point, she may have to explain this to someone. Her sister. Her father.

Oh dear. Her father.

“We’ll cross those bridges when we reach them,” she mutters under her breath. She adjusts her hard hat so it settles more comfortably on her head.

“Excuse me?” asks Clark. Lois turns to look up at him. He is wearing his safety helmet, carefully fastened. He is on his third pair of glasses—he doesn’t see well in them and keeps bumping into things. Or he’ll forget, and take them off and snap them clean in two. The military keeps their few facts about Superman close to their chest, but even without glasses, she hears the occasional comment about how good-looking Clark is, jokes about how he should enter a lookalike contest.

Clark always gets a little klutzy (well, klutzier) whenever he hears those conversations. Everyone will stop, have a laugh at his expense, and move on. It is so easy to hide when no one expects you.

“Just old lady pains,” she says, instead. Diversion diversion diverson. She’s good at those. “Come on, let’s go find Luthor’s crap.”

Still, even with the excitement of outrunning radioactive goop and nearly avoiding a confrontation with the man himself, Lois still answers the doorbell that night to find Clark with a hot water bottle and some kind of tea mix in a mason jar.

Seriously, best man in the universe.


End file.
